Snap, Crackers, and Pop
by Word Doc
Summary: A collection of moments between Fillmore and Ingrid.
1. Marked

**Marked**  
>She was different.<p>

* * *

><p>The first time he saw her, she was standing in front of the entire student body at X Middle School.<p>

It was the Introduction Ceremony for new students at X and he, Vallejo, and Parnassus had been sitting on the side of the stage in case one of the students decided to throw pies instead of Styrofoam balls…again. He remembered sighing throughout Folsom's speech, barely listening to the Principal's near histrionic intro. He never liked the razzing, but it was another one of X's quirky, yet valued (for whatever reason) traditions so he bore it without complaint. Truth be told, he suspected it actually worked to some degree. Craig McGee, last month's newest addition, was an awkward boy with a splotchy face and the type that wore socks with his flip-flops. Everyone avoided him until the ceremony where he demonstrated his ability to dodge the foam balls with surprising agility. McGee was now an admired athlete and a legend in X's Dodgeball Team.

_Go figure_, Fillmore thought wryly.

As the time came for Third to make her appearance, he straightened in his seat—no butter cream pastry was going to get by on his watch.

When she finally stumbled out, his eyes immediately locked onto her. Ever since he joined the force, he's grown used to taking in the details of a scene or people. And if his gut feelings meant anything, then Ingrid Third would not be accepted as easily as McGee.

For one thing, she certainly did stand out. Even without the bright spotlight, she had a certain air about her that forces attention. He had watched her observe the crowd critically with her head held high and her emerald eyes narrowed, as if she was judging if they were worth her time or not. Folsom had mentioned she was smart and the intelligence shined in her eyes. Her painted lips were blood-red against her pale skin and charcoal hair. And if her 'unique' looks didn't attract stares, her fashion sense sure did: a simple black slip-on and a pair of dark sneakers with green lining caused her to clash horribly with the majority of the school's much brighter dress colors.

A couple weeks later, he discovered that she was even stranger than she first let on. In addition to her hobby of practical voodoo, Ingrid Third also turned out to be both a rebel and a studious bookworm. He's caught her in the library on his daily patrol more times than he can remember. But then again, he's also caught her riding her new scooter on school campus the same number of times, if not more. She didn't have many friends in her classes—being a genius with a stand-offish personality isolated her. But the few who were lucky enough to call themselves her friends had nothing but good things to say about the brave, caring, misunderstood girl.

Himself included.

After working with her on so many cases, he knew her better than anyone else. And never in his entire eleven years has he ever known someone so full of contradictions. Even Vallejo had said so when they worked the Red Robins case: She was different. She looked dark, but she fancied girly trinkets like Happy Cat-Head accessories. She was practical to a point but had decorative Gato-Wombato anime linens and various knicknacks adorning her desk. She has a sense of justice that rivaled his own and a set of skills that was illegal in several states. Her eyes were icy but her smile warmed his heart.

He would have never thought someone like her would be the one he called his best friend.

But now he can't think of anyone else he'd give that title to.

As he leaned against the lockers, he searched the crowded hallways with practice. The school was filled with a multitude of students ranging from the techno-experts to the javelin champions. Athletes, artists, geeks, and members from all sorts of cliques littered the hallway. But he wasn't worried. Out of the corner of his vision, he spotted a bland-looking figure wearing a grey hoodie, baggy sweats, and a backwards baseball cap. Fillmore smirked. Taking his walkie off his belt, he spoke into it, "Between Room 302's drinking fountain and the east side lockers."

The figure he had spotted started walking towards his direction and stopped right before him. Reaching out, Fillmore flipped back the hood with a flick of his wrist to reveal a sharp pair of annoyed green eyes. His smirk morphed into a good natured grin.

"Time?" he questioned casually.

Ingrid pulled off the cap, causing her bound hair to fall freely against her cheeks. She checked her watch and scowled. "Thirty-two seconds flat."

His grin widened and her frown deepened in response.

"How are you so good at this?" She asked while unzipping the hoodie to reveal her usual dress and the neon-orange sash that marked her as one of the Safety Patrol and his faithful partner. She handed him the watch for his turn to disguise himself while she played lookout in their weekly version of 'Hide and Seek'.

He only smiled.

"Because you're different from the others."

* * *

><p>Word from the Writer: Whuddup, FFers. I didn't mention this earlier but here's what you've all been <em>really<em> waiting for:

**Disclaimer: **I swear on my leather cowboy boots that I do not own any bit of Fillmore! in this entire agglomeration of one-shots. Nope, that's all Gimple. Love that man. Respect.

SCP is a random collection. Some are short enough to make you think: WTF that's it? Refund the last two minutes of my life please, some are long enough to be split into two chapters but I don't do it because I like to irk you guys, some fit in with the show, some are a branch off of it, and some hint at a new Fillmore! story that has been scootering around in my thinking space.

Show that review button some love.

Peace.

Dev out.


	2. Strung Up

**Strung Up**  
>Vallejo wonders why he keeps Ingrid Third in the Safety Patrol.<p>

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><p>It's been seventeen minutes.<p>

Seventeen agonizingly long minutes since the new Senior Patrol Officer Ingrid Third entered Jr. Commissioner Vallejo's office. Seventeen minutes of horror-movie-worthy suspense. Karen Tehama felt her right eye begin to twitch from the intensity with which she has been watching the clock. A part of her was pleading for the return of her friend and teammate's partner, one Cornelius Fillmore who had stepped out momentarily to meet with Principal Folsom for whatever (financial) reason. He could stop this tense atmosphere no problem. Another larger, part of her desperately wished to leave the Safety Patrol HQ and seek comfort in a Coco-Insanutty bar. Away from the muffled shouting that's been occurring in the room for this entire time.

Glancing around the office, she noticed she was not alone. Danny was at his desk, chewing the life out of his nails. His blue eyes kept darting nervously back to Vallejo's door and he kept fiddling with his camera straps. Anza was leaning casually against his table, but she could see the hand holding his cocoa cup shake slightly. And unlike O'Farrell, he was studiously looking away from the door and trying his best to ignore it instead. She snuck a glance at the entrance door, hoping to see the thug-turned-officer to waltz in. None of them knew what was going on, but they knew enough to know nothing good could come of Vallejo's needing to see Ingrid in his office.

Why, you ask?

Well…

_18 minutes earlier…_

The entrance to X Middle School's Safety Patrol slammed open without warning, startling its inhabitants.

In stepped a girl who was average height with not so average looks. Her bright emerald eyes were sharp and calculating, shining with intelligence unheard of in most middle school students. They, like her pale skin, contrasted with the black ink-like stain that was her hair—cut into a stylish bob that focused on function rather than fashion. Her face may have been considered pretty by some had it not been tarnished by the disgusted sneer on her lips.

And disgusting it was.

"What…_is_ that?" Tehama spoke first, shakily and holding a hand to her stomach as she and the rest of the Safety Patrol observed their newest member with looks of curiosity, revulsion, and aghast. The girl was covered from head to combat-booted toes in what could only be described as green slime…and feathers. It clung to her and everything else it touched and stuck with a strange gum-like consistency. She was also emitting a foul odor that was strangely reminiscent of the year's recent major stink bomb incident. They weren't sure if they wanted to get closer to help their friend, or scoot away from the putrid stank.

The 'newest member' raised a hand to wipe off the gunk from her mouth so that she could speak. "_This_," Her voice escaped in a hiss. "Apparently, is homemade _jam_ that sixth grader Eddy Tubman decided to _whip up_." The substance weighed down her hair most uncomfortably and was starting to drip. But due to its gum texture, its dripping remained connected to her hair even as it reached the floor.

Anza frowned while holding his nose. His voice came out nasally, "I thought you were going to check out the anonymous tip of a scheduled Food Fight today."

Ingrid shot him a dark look, "Turns out the tip was right." She scowled, the goop dripping down her brow. "Dear Eddy decided to _serve_ his homemade _jam_ in the cafeteria today."

"It looks more like snot." O'Farrell added smartly. Ingrid turned her glower on the camera boy who flinched and started backtracking. "I-I mean-! Since it's green-! And since you're so small, you look like a boo—"

"Finish that sentence, O'Farrell." The Goth girl encouraged with death in her voice and torture in her cat eyes. "_Go on_. Because I would _love _to listen to what you have to say. Anything would be like music to my ears if I could hear past this stuff. After meeting Eddy and getting to _intimately_ know his cooking in the ensuing Food Fight of the semester, nothing could improve my mood more. Except maybe when I ran into the Ornithology Club after the fight and you know why, O'Farrell? You know why? Because today was the one day they had their _annual_ Model Birds Show where they show off _all_ the stuffed birds in the Science Department. And thanks to Eddy's _**lovely, **__**sticky**__ jam_, it seems I've become very attractive to avian _fluff_. And the best part? Because of the run in with the members of Birds' Best Buddies, Tubman escaped with little but a ketchup stain and I could do **nothing** because my _partner_ was a no-show today."

When she finished, she was breathing heavily and her hands were rhythmically clenching and unclenching. _Like she's strangling something_, Tehama thought with a shudder. O'Farrell was speechless, and looking rather pale and green himself now. Anza, for the most part, was trying to keep from laughing at the furious genius-girl. Tehama was just thankful he kept it in. Who knows what mental havoc she could reap on the next person who annoyed her.

"Third!" Came the thunderous, almost fateful, summon. "In my office!"

All heads, with the exception of O'Farrell—who was currently in fetal position underneath his desk— turned to an angry Jr. Commissioner who went by the name of Horatio Vallejo. His voice booked no argument but Tehama hesitated in sending the girl in question inside, especially with her current mood.

Ultimately, she had no choice in the matter as Ingrid huffed and trudged her way to the office, fighting the gum like substance as it stuck to the floor with every step. A sense of foreboding filled HQ when the door closed with a silent click.

Tehama wrung her hands nervously, "I hope she'll be okay."

Her partner snorted, "I'm more worried about Val."

"I wonder what kind of fruit makes jam…green." She felt a little queasy.

Anza shrugged, "Probably just food coloring."

Recalling the scent, Tehama shuddered. "Somehow, I doubt it."

o.O.o.O.o.O.o

"Sit."

She wrinkled her nose at the thought of squishing the goo against her skin any more than necessary. "I'll stand."

Vallejo's frown deepened, "I'm in no mood for any sort of your usual rebellion, Third. Now sit."

She folded her arms defiantly with a squelch. "No."

And it was then that short-tempered Vallejo knew this _conversation_ was not about to end well. He was usually more tolerant of the stubbornness his best officers seemed to share. But today, he had spent his entire morning receiving a lecture from Folsom about the school damage from the last couple of cases and the fact that Safety Patrol had not only caused the involvement of innocent bystanders, but had also trashed the teacher's lounge (more specifically Folsom's personal latte machine).

So on top of having to get lectured by an infuriated Principal, he got lectured by an infuriated, suffering-from-caffeine-withdrawl Principal. And the cherry on his ice-cream float of suffering? He gets a phone call from the lunch ladies, saying that the entire cafeteria staff (and some leftover kids) is _swimming_ in something green and because of this green thing, the cafeteria will be closed until further notice. Or until a professional cleaning crew arrives. Which will no doubt cost a bundle. A bundle that will be charged on behalf of the Safety Patrol. A bundle that will no doubt catch the furious eye of a certain Dawn S. Folsom.

To sum it all up:

Horatio Vallejo was _not_ a happy Commissioner.

"What am I going to do with you Third?" He gestured hopelessly to the goop-covered girl. "I need responsible and capable members on my team—not children who would rather get involved in a food fight than stop it. _Like they are supposed to_."

"Sir, I _was_ doing my job."

"How? By making a fashion statement?" He sniffed and covered his nose. "And your own perfume brand?"

Ingrid's hands curled into tight fists. "I'm trying my best."

"I don't want your best, Third. I want results." Vallejo repeated what Folsom had told him that morning. He knew he was being harsh on the new girl. After all, she had become a part of the force a mere two weeks ago and was still adjusting. He should be sympathetic, should be understanding. Unfortunately, he was none of those things.

"Don't think that just because you made the team you're free to relax and let Fillmore solve everything. I gave you an easy assignment today and I expected you to have completed it with flying colors. Instead, it seems you not only failed to prevent the food fight, but you let Eddy escape, have no solid evidence of his starting the brawl, _and_ owe the Ornithology Club seven thousand dollars for damaging their stuffed bird collection and the cafeteria staff new aprons and hairnets. Keep it up, kid, and you'll have a debt that could match Fillmore's in no time."

She kept her eyes fixed on the slimy floor. Her face burned red with indignation but she refused to complain about the lack of help and unfortunate circumstances that occurred. Everything he said was true. But that didn't stop her from wanting to smear the goo over the chief's face.

"Why do I even keep you on the Patrol?" Vallejo muttered to himself on a whim. He said this all the time, and everyone either ignored it or teased him about never acting on it. But for a split moment, he had forgotten that Ingrid was not familiar with it.

There was a tense silence for a good minute before Ingrid raised her eyes. He gulped.

The girl's eyes could have chilled fire.

"I don't know!" She finally snarled. In another time, she might have stayed on the down low, might have gritted her teeth and bore the commander's berates without backtalk. But today has been so much more stressful than most and it didn't help that she's been feeling a lingering emptiness all day from her best friend's absence. No, Ingrid Third would not be docile today. The tiger has been released from its cage and she was coming out with fangs bared and claws at the ready.

"Why _do _you keep me here? If you're so sick of me, why don't you fire me? I'm fine now. I don't need you _or_ Fillmore anymore to help me 'fit in'. I'll be all right on my own."

Vallejo's eyes narrowed. It was most definitely an option, wasn't it? He could slip a word to Folsom about Third's unacceptable behavior and maybe suggest more academic classes for her instead of the Safety Patrol. There was no doubt in his mind that the principal would be swayed by the promise of a raise in grade average with Ingrid behind the desk. Heck, if she joined the Robotics club permanently, they could make it, no, **win** nationals and then Folsom would have a real doosey.

But then Fillmore would be without a partner.

And as much as he hated to admit it, Ingrid Third's existence in the Safety Patrol was necessary. Cornelius Fillmore was a thick-headed, stubborn, obstinate, costly, rude, and overall pain in the Vallejo's rear end. But he was good. He was very good. And he's only been working as well as he has recently because of this one tiny, hissing little girl who was currently trying to maim Vallejo with her eyes. The Commissioner knew that when Wayne left, Fillmore had been devastated. Of course he would be. Wayne had been the one who set him on the right path, the one who encouraged him when he was on the edge, and had perhaps been Fillmore's first true friend. It was because of Wayne that Fillmore had become a much needed friend and ally to all of them in the Safety Patrol.

In that brief period of time Wayne was gone and Third had yet to arrive, Fillmore had spent a lot more time involved in work, trying rigorously (or desperately) to pull the work of two people. He worked non-stop and perfected his detective skills to the point where X Middle School actually had a crime-free week.

It was also during that time when people began trusting Fillmore.

Students who knew him as a criminal began to greet him in the hallways and thank him for his hard work. Many had even poked their heads into HQ to say hi to him. The one phrase Vallejo heard more than any other at that time ran something along the lines of: 'you're not so scary now that I got a chance to talk to you, Fillmore.'

The colored boy had smiled genuinely albeit sadly and Vallejo knew he was regretting his past. He was polite but almost stand-offish even to his own team members on the Patrol. Vallejo tried pairing him with Anza, Tehama, and O'Farrell but Fillmore always took the lead and guided the others.

That wasn't a partnership.

That was heading a team.

Although Fillmore was good-was excellent at it-he needed someone to help him find balance. The way he pushed himself to make up for his crimes was taking its toll on him. Several days he would come in with deep shadows under his sleepless eyes and answer in forms of grunts instead of words. The entire Safety Patrol was worried he would work himself to death at this rate.

Vallejo continued thinking about possible partners for Fillmore but none of them seemed to match his aptitude or personality. Many of the applicants were rejected point blank because they couldn't reach Fillmore's level. Out of the handful that was left was Parnassus. Vallejo was actually adverse to the idea of having Parnassus, the snake, on the Safety Patrol.

The brat was just that: a brat, a kid doing it for the sake of college applications and an ego-boost. But he had been smarter than the others.

It wasn't until now that Vallejo realized how stupid the snake really was.

Fillmore had beaten him to it.

One look at the coiffed blonde and the reformed officer had known. Vallejo still got headaches sometimes when he remembered that morning when Fillmore stormed into his office, rejected any permanent partnership, and demanded to work alone. He had to threaten expulsion from Patrol to even get Fillmore to listen much less comply. Cornelius obeyed, but not without doing serious damage to Vallejo's pictures that he had just finished straightening that morning. Vallejo had wondered what would become of the 'Lone Wolf' if he'll ever be able to compromise with a partner.

And then Ingrid Third arrived at X Middle School.

She was cool—confident—but commanded none of Fillmore's authority. Ingrid carried herself quietly. She seemed more like an observer than a pursuer.

Well, that had been Vallejo's first impression of her anyway. It hadn't turned out very accurate, now that he thought about it.

After the whole stinkbomb fiasco, Vallejo returned to searching for a partner for Fillmore even though he had a pretty good idea who might be a good match already. During Ingrid's investigation, Fillmore had been antsy and fidgety—very unlike his usually composed self. Vallejo supposed it had something to do with Ingrid willingly condemning herself to the crime she did not commit. He, like Fillmore, wanted to see justice done. But he, unlike Fillmore, respected the girl's own business and didn't interfere. Once the entire case was settled, Fillmore, on his own free will, had come up to him and admitted the error in his thinking.

_Going solo? That isn't going to work. _

Somehow, Vallejo hadn't been surprised at the sudden change of heart at all.

For the next two weeks, there has already been a dramatic transformation in X's best Safety Patrol officer. He was chatting more often with the team about sports or fishing, and less about business like he used to (although he was still a workaholic). He was also becoming more relaxed rather than forcing himself to be polite. He flashed a quick smile now and then and laughed often. He shared jokes and praised a team member when they did well.

And the best thing, in Vallejo's eyes, was that Fillmore rarely broke any of his glass frames anymore. The officer's anger and need to control lessened to a point where he hardly ever instigated an argument with the chief anymore. He still argued against jurisdictions and did what he wanted, but then again, it was Fillmore.

Vallejo will keep Third around if only to keep Fillmore happy and away from door slamming in his office. His dislike for the goth-like girl stemmed mostly from her resemblance to Malika, ex-Safety Patroller and current Red Robin leader. Both were deviously cunning and isolated from the majority of the school body for their differences. Malika was a smart and cheerful girl—she was the last person Vallejo suspected to take such a drastic turn. Who's to say the same won't happen to Third? Sure, the girl was a labeled genius, and that photographic memory of hers had been useful for solving crimes and finishing paperwork—a task Fillmore tends to neglect—and has a strong sense of justice. But there was a constant worry Vallejo had that the same fate might befall her.

Of course, he would have to be going through cocoa withdrawl to voice his concern out loud.

After all, he was _not_ going soft.

Realizing that the girl was still waiting impatiently for an answer that he had yet to consider, Vallejo said the first thing that came to mind.

"I keep you around, Third," the Jr. Commissioner stated, "Because it keeps my pictures **on** the wall and **off** the floor!"

Ingrid frowned. "What does that even mean?" she demanded. Had the eighth grader finally lost it?

"It means: GET BACK TO WORK!" Vallejo shouted.

Confused and angry, the dark-haired girl gave one last growl before stomping through the door and slamming it none to gently behind her.

The frames hanging neatly in Vallejo's office to rattled dangerously. Vallejo's heart stopped for a brief second in fear as he waited for the shaking to cease. When they did, and everything was still intact, he released the giant sigh of relief he had been holding in.

"Those two are impossible." He grumbled to himself, taking a sip of his cocoa before setting it down with a quiet thud.

_**CRASH!**_

Vallejo could only watch in horror as each picture fell from the wall in succession. Thirteen seconds later, he was left with ten shattered frames, two toppled trophies, and the migraine of the semester.

"_**THIRD!**_"

* * *

><p><strong>Word from the Writer:<strong> I love jam. Really, I do.

Welcome back, kiddies.

A triple heads up to **FFAA,** **QSR, **and **Ally** for being utterly awesome and giving SCP a chance by reviewing it. You three deserve honorary Safety Patrol badges. Hopefully it will meet your expectations. Let me know in your 'views, hey? That applies to all you click-and-skimmers too who read but don't review. I know you're out there; my traffic stats tell me so. Be cool, yo.

That speech bubble's looking awfully lonely. You should click on it.

Peace.

-Dev


	3. Aftermath

**Aftermath**  
>Fillmore is sentenced to clean-up duty.<p>

* * *

><p>It was still there.<p>

On the floor it sat innocently, mocking him with its presence.

He glared at it as if he could make it disappear by sheer force of will.

No dice.

When that failed, he started scrubbing the spot viciously for the fifth time with the mop. He cursed when he saw that his effort accomplished nothing and the wretched green stain remained on the otherwise white tiles of the cafeteria floor. "What **is** this stuff?" He mumbled to himself.

"Jam. Homemade."

He turned to the entrance to see his partner smirking at his misfortune. He shot her a similar look that he gave the stain. She brushed it off easily and sashayed over to his side with a catty grin and gleaming green eyes that gave him a once-over. Her grin turned mischievous. "Nice outfit."

Fillmore resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at her. So what if he was decked out in rubber gloves and rubber boots with an apron to top it all off? "Hey, it's better than having to touch it with my bare hands." He countered, flashing a quick smile. "Or getting it all over me."

He may not have been there to see Ingrid get plastered with the goo, but that's why they had O'Farrell. Or, to be more specific, O'Farrell's camera. Danny was mildly traumatized for the day so Anza had to be the one to take the pictures. Ingrid had not been amused. If Fillmore remembered correctly, the bodyguard was still trying to get green goop out of his hair.

Ingrid rolled her eyes. "The hairnet's a bit much." She said, chuckling.

"It's required when handling school food." He sighed wearily, tugging at the pointless object on his hairless head.

His best friend eyed the brown mush that coated the walls and floors of X Middle School's lunch room.

"Can this even be counted as food? I'm pretty sure I saw some of it move just now."

He shrugged and proceeded to pick up a shovel and start clearing various pieces of trash off the floor. "This had to be the biggest Food Fight in X history. It sure is taking forever to clean up anyway." He was on his fourth trash bag and he couldn't even see the tiles yet. Given the chance, this stuff could block out the sun.

"Actually, the Food Frenzy of '79 is still ranked one on the Examiner's 'Top Food Fights at X'." Ingrid mused, stepping over a suspicious-looking ham and cheese concoction. "Someone filled the vents with four years worth of mashed potatoes and replaced the soda machines with at least two tons of gravy. Called it a Happy Thanksgraving."

"Dawg." Fillmore whistled, "I'm glad I ain't cleaning **that one** up."

"Which reminds me," the girl drawled, "How did Vallejo manage to talk you into doing clean-up duty in the first place?"

"I can't do it because I felt guilty for leaving you to deal with the fight all by yourself?" He tried to look hurt, but gave up after she threw what looked like a pretzel rod at him. "He may have offered to knock some zeros off my debt." He admitted as he tied the knot on his fourth bag and opened a new one.

"Ah, and the truth finally reveals itself." She said knowingly before pulling out a pair of rubber gloves for herself.

He raised a brow at the sight of them.

"I felt bad that you had to clean all of this by yourself." She answered his unspoken question. "Even though you do deserve it for ditching your partner." She added as an afterthought.

"It's not like I wanted to get called out by Principal Folsom." Fillmore protested. "I would choose getting covered in _green_ with _you_ than be _clean_ with _her_ any day. We're a team. If we go down, we'll go down together." As if on cue, he slipped on a packet of hot sauce and nearly fell face first into god-knows-what gunk had Ingrid not reflexively caught his arm and pulled him upright.

"How about we not go down at all?" Her voice was strained as she tried to hold up his weight.

He chuckled and nodded his thanks. "Sounds like a plan."

They fist bumped and shared a smile.

"So tell me something." Fillmore started as he returned to shoveling.

"Shoot." Ingrid replied, holding open the bag for Fillmore to dump the trash in.

"How did you manage to get rid of all that…jam you had on you?"

She paused, narrowing her eyes at carefully his neutral expression. After analyzing him for a full thirty seconds, she shook her head. "No way, Fillmore. Anza took a whole roll of film. He's not getting off the hook—or _out of_ the goop—that easily."

"Who said anything about Anza?" He asked innocently, although the small tilt of his lips betrayed his show of ignorance. "I just want to know how to get this stuff off the floor. Tehama said you developed a counter-formula to remove it."

"Drop it, Fillmore." Ingrid scowled. "I know all about your bargain with him. I don't care if he's offering to distract Folsom for the rest of the semester whenever you break something, I'm not handing over my formula. Not unless he erases all of the evidence."

He sighed, dropping the act. It was impossible to hide anything from those emerald eyes of hers. "Alright. Can't say I didn't try though. Hand me that bag if it's full."

After several hours passed, they took out the mountain of trashbags that had accumulated during the time. Fillmore was surprised at how quickly they managed to finish the job despite the enormity of the mess. He was also startled when he checked his watch to find that so much time had passed without his noticing. He had been chatting with Ingrid the entire time: they first discussed how to catch Eddy Tubman for instigating the food fight. That led to guessing how long Folsom would give him detention. Which led to Folsom's repressed anger. Leading to all the previous times the blonde Principal had lost her temper with the Safety Patrol. Then came talk of their fellow Safety Patrol members. Vallejo was getting new picture frames and shooting them both glares. O'Farrell was feeling better and was quite pleased with model train Ingrid had sent as an apology. Tehama was helping Anza with his hair and spending a considerable amount of time trying to fix it. They laughed at their friends' antics and then snickered at their own predicament. Before he knew it, it was nearing six o'clock and his parents had called to check when he'd be coming home for dinner.

He shot his partner a glance and saw her rub her neck, wincing as she did so. They had just finished cleaning the ceiling and their necks were sore from staring up the entire time.

"Why don't you sit down, Ingrid. I can take it from here." he offered her an empty seat on one of the lunch tables while removing his rubber gloves since most of the dirty work was over. She just shrugged and remained standing but leaned against the wall for a break, watching him take the mop back out and wipe it across the tiles.

"Hey Ingrid?" He didn't look up from his task, but he felt her eyes focus on him. "About that day of the food fight…"

"Forget about it, Fillmore." She interrupted. "You said it yourself: you didn't want to leave me alone. That's enough."

He frowned to himself and wiped the mop with more force than necessary. "No, it's not."

It hadn't felt right—to leave her to fend for herself on an assignment while she was still new to the job. The entire time he was in Folsom's office, his mind had been elsewhere. More specifically, it had been on Ingrid and how she was faring.

"I should have stayed. Forget what Folsom wanted, I'm _your_ partner Ingrid."

"And I'm _yours_." She broke in once again, sounding irritated.

"I should have been with you in Folsom's office when you were getting blamed for the damage done on the Gerald case. You weren't the one who knocked over the 'priceless' vase in the first place. How do you think I felt for letting my partner take the rep for something that was **my** fault? We both wanted to do something else but we couldn't go against orders. We're even."

Ingrid sighed. "Don't blame yourself for not being able to do the impossible."

There was a comfortable silence between the two of them as they each reflected on what the other said.

Then she noticed that he was still frowning. "What's wrong now?"

He sighed heavily.

"It's a little annoying how you have an answer for everything." He replied and promptly got smacked in the face with a pair of rubber gloves she threw at him.

"…Ouch."

"You missed a spot."

* * *

><p><strong>Word from the Writer: <strong>I hate stains. Really, I do.

I may have written this piece just for the sake of making Fillmore wear a hairnet. Yeah, it seems I'm just _that_ evil. Who knows, my next sinister plot may be to make Ingrid wear yellow.

Replies to the Reviewers

**FanFicAA**: With this chapter, I revive you! (hopefully) Thanks for dropping by, hon. Always a pleasure to hear from you.

**QSR016: **I heard laughter is supposed to give you abs. So keep reading if you want to be ripped! (Disclaimer: Dev is not responsible for any abnormalities that may occur if you use SCP. Please consult your physician if any ruptured spleens, induced comas, or excessive crying occurs. Thank you for reading **and** **reviewing** SCP. We hope you visit again.)

In all seriousness, I wanted to post something in honor of those who died in 9/11. It's been 10 years but their memory will continue to live on in the hearts of millions in America. I understand this chapter is not a very good representation of that but I believe that when times are darkest, the smallest happiness can make a huge difference. In spite of everything that had happened, we must look forward with a smile on our face and continue to hope for the better without forgetting those who died this day and those who died trying to save them.

Rest in Peace.

-Dev


	4. Canary Yellow

**Canary Yellow**  
>She really didn't fit the color scheme.<p>

* * *

><p>Black was considered a somber color by many. It was dark, mysterious, and often represented evil.<p>

Ingrid thought it represented every color forced together into a single shade. It also happened to be the only color she thought she could pull off.

Contrary to popular belief, Ingrid Third did indeed go shopping and has indeed tried on many different styles of clothes. Now mind you, this was way far back in the beginning of middle school where she had not even known X existed yet. Having a sister who was an artist meant that you played dress up: hardcore. Ariella dragged her to every shop and made her try on skirts, jeans, slacks, dresses, ponchos, cocktails, suits, kimonos—you name it, Ingrid's worn it.

The sixth grader at the time bore the process with little complaint and may have even found it the tiniest bit enjoyable. Not that she would admit that to her sister. No need encouraging this sort of thing to happen more often than once a year.

And so Ingrid saw herself in every color of the rainbow and decided she didn't like the rainbow.

It was easier to dress how people thought you should dress. It stopped them from asking you uncomfortable questions. She _seemed_ like a dark, Gothic girl. She _should_ wear black. So she did.

Fillmore would frown up a storm if he knew her way of thinking.

"_Don't let other people dictate how you should live your life."_ He would say with conviction. She would shrug and say she wasn't letting them. More often than naught, they were the ones pushing her to don a very different color.

Folsom mentioned one time she should wear more yellow. Both Sonny and Checkmatey referred to her as sunshine. Becca had wanted to dress her in her yellow collection. Ingrid wasn't sure if they were all being sarcastic or if there was some ongoing bet to get her in the bright color. Either way, she refused to wear something so chirpy.

So she found it terribly ironic when she was browsing Pet Poppa one day for a cat and ended up with a bird.

He was a canary but had the appearance (and weight) of a yellowhammer. The worker said it had numerous respiratory problems, a sprained wing, and was bordering on obesity. Ingrid watched as the bird stared her back with a challenge in its beady eyes and puffed out his chest arrogantly as if to say _why do I care how you think of me?_ He also happened to be brilliantly yellow. He was so yellow that he had to be separated from the rest of the birds who liked to pick on him because of his color.

_Like a pack of dogs fighting each other_, Ingrid thought. She admired the canary's vigilance and unflappability—no pun intended.

Come Saturday, Fillmore arrived early yet again at her front door for their weekly game night. He laughed at the sight of a fat bird perched upon Ingrid's shoulder like he owned her.

"New addition to the family?" His grin was contagious.

She patted the irritated canary. "Cornelius Fillmore, meet Flavian Third: residential canary."

"The pleasure is all mine." Fillmore returned with a smile. "He looks good on you." He added, watching the bird grow bored with the introduction and slouch against Ingrid's neck like squishy play-dough.

Ingrid smirked. "It's the only yellow I'll ever wear."

* * *

><p><strong>Word from the Writer:<strong> I couldn't resist. I realize it's not exactly fluff worthy but you know what? Flavian is fat and fluffy enough to account for the both of them so deal. Food for thought: I have two new Fillmore stories for y'all and I'm wondering which you would like me to post first: the novella (about 10 chapters) versus the novelette (about 20 chapters). Let me know down below in that speech bubble there. I won't be posting either until i get **seven** votes/reviews because that buys me some time to work out plotlines and such (and because I'm lazy). Both are IxF so don't worry your pants about what genre they'll be. Although I will say that novelette is more action-packed than the introspective novella.

Next chapter will be longer, swear it.

Replies to the Reviewers

**QSR016:** Nice little continuation of your last review. Muchas thanks senorita. See you la proxima vez.

**Ally666:** Thanks so much! I love all your exclamations! They make everything so exciting and fun to read!

**Lee Aemilius:** Hello again girlie, thanks for dropping by. Your words make eager to write more and I am humbled your praise. It was my pleasure to entertain, as always. Hope to see you next time too.

Hasta la bye bye for now, you wonderful people.

Others could be wonderful too if they review.

Peace.

-Dev


	5. Paper and Work

**Paper and Work**  
>With so much crime going on, Ingrid is falling behind on the paperwork.<p>

* * *

><p><em>Click. Clack. <em>Click. Clack<em>_

_ Tap. Tap. Tap. _

_ Click. Clack. _Click. Clack__

_ Tap. Tap. Tap. _

Ingrid Third typed another line about her and Fillmore's most recent case report, but ended up tapping the backspace key once again as she discovered that her facts were incorrect. Frowning to herself, she started a new paragraph. Her mind often worked like a machine—much to her annoyance. It works chronologically and as a result, so does she. No matter how hard she tried to focus on the current case, her traitorous brain keeps replaying a month-old case where she had yet to finish the report on. She knew that if she started working backwards, she would get interrupted with another case and then even more piling up would occur. It made her wonder why this kept happening. What she she needed to do was stop the pattern before—

"We got another one."

Groaning, she fell forward on her desk—her forehead hitting the table with a dull _thud_. She didn't need to look up to know that her partner was staring at her with a raised eyebrow.

"You okay?" He asked, bemused.

Her voice came out muffled but he got the gist of it.

"That's beat." She could imagine him shaking his head in sympathy. "Why don't you take a break?"

She answered his suggestion with an even louder groan. She heard him chuckle and finally mustered the energy to glance in his direction only to find a stack of papers blocking her view. Keeping her chin on the desk surface, she found that sometime during her report, she had stacked piles upon piles of manila folders on her desk filled with profiles of all the suspects and criminals they had caught recently. And by recently, she meant the last two months or so.

Blowing the fringe out of her hair, Ingrid scowled. How dare each report require every suspect, innocent bystander, teacher, backstabber, and officer involved! All the information was robbing her memory bank and jumbling her thoughts.

"You want me to take over?"

She sighed and sat upright, leaning her elbows against the table and resting her chin on her hands with a bored expression. "No offense, Fillmore, but it would take even longer if you took over."

Photographic memory had its uses. She held the record time for fastest report in the office.

Well, it wasn't much of a record when no one else wanted to do them.

Tehama got to it when she could. Anza usually passed it on to Tehama. Danny could barely form a complete sentence without mentioning dinosaurs or superheroes. And Vallejo has it on paper that Fillmore has never turned in a report on time.

_Ugh._

The thought of paper made her eyes squint at the computer screen.

Fillmore whistled at her bleak expression and leaned back on his own chair with two of its legs balanced in the air and with his feet crossed on the desk: the picture of ease. Had he not looked so picturesque, she might have hated him for it. He was drinking out of his rabbit mug and looking over a folder that he had grabbed randomly off of her desk. A frown marred his features.

"The Ferrari case? Wasn't that—?"

"April 9th. Yeah, it was a long time ago." She replied absently. She was eyeing his hot chocolate like a hawk. She thinks he probably noticed because he offered it to her a second later. She gratefully took the cup and sipped out of it slowly even though it was only moderately warm. She liked her cocoa searing hot. Fillmore always let his cool off for a bit.

"Why are you-?"

"Mind Baggage." She explained, feeling much more rejuvenated. "When I set my mind out to do something, my brain won't let me think of anything else until I've completed it. Otherwise, it carries on over to my thoughts and everything else I'm doing."

Fillmore nodded and handed the file back.

"You want to sit this one out so you can catch up on paperwork?"

She thought about the offer.

It was tempting.

Sure, it would relieve her mind of a lot of built up stress. However, that also meant she'll miss out on the thrill of a chase with Fillmore. A chase where she can barely hear the suspect shout through the pounding of her own heart, feel the adrenaline rush through her blood, see her partner's back in front of her with sweat clinging to his skin, emphasizing the sinuous muscles that were beginning to develop _very_ nicely—

Her forehead emitted a _thud_ as it once again hit the table, this time in self-loathing.

"Ingrid?"

"…It can wait."

* * *

><p><strong>Word from the Writer<strong>: Well…it is longer, right? Right. Next chapter won't be so Ingrid-centric. It will most likely go: Fillmore-centric, then I-F centric. No particular order unless you guys have requests or something.

On a side note, SCP reached the 10 reviews mark (I celebrate by tens)! Happiness in a jar. Really, thanks you guys. You have no idea how low my expectations were for this collection (mainly because it was my first attempt on FF and because of the small amount of Fillmore readers ((which is a crime in and of itself))). Anyway, an enormous love-hug to **Ally666, QSR016, FanFicAA, **and **Lee Aemilius **for sticking with SCP. I write for you guys.

Reply to the Reviewers

**Random Inspiration:** Hola again mi amigo, it's nice of you to drop by. Thanks for the praise-you write a very good review. It may sound like I worry about length but I really don't (see first chapter WW, I am most definitely okay with stunted word length). But thanks all the same for the encouragement. Mucho appreciated.

It's also not my thing to go tell my readers to 'check-out' my new stories or whatever. If you guys really are interested (huzzah!), then do what you want. The most prompting you'll get from me is a notice of a new story or update but that's about it. Newest Fillmore story: Days of Our Lives is up. Click my name up top to see it under the stories section.

Some honk for charity. Others click for reviews. Both are for good causes. So be a good person.

Peace.

-Dev


	6. Duty Calls

**Duty Calls**  
>Fillmore's out on a date. But he can't seem to stop picking up his phone.<p>

* * *

><p>"So then I was like: 'There's <em>no<em> way someone can do a Pretty Girl Kick Twist Basket Toss _with_ a Double-Down Barrel Roll unless she was double jointed!"

Fillmore resisted the urge to sink lower into his seat. It would not be a good idea. Why? Well, first of all, it would be impolite to his current company (even though she seemed to be enjoying having a conversation with herself). Two, any lower and he might as well be sitting on X Café's freshly waxed floors. And he doubted the newest eating establishment on X Middle School campus would appreciate his dirt-streaked jeans marring the perfection of their spirited white and red marble tiles.

Even if it so clean that it hurt his eyes.

He observed the sparkling walls and matching tabletops of X Café with no small amount of apprehension. The _cleanliness_ of the place made him feel out of place. A part of him wished for the grimy floors of the Egg Rollery instead. If he tried real hard, he could almost imagine the comforting feel of cheap plastic tables under his palms, smell the over-fried egg rolls, hear the sound of familiar quiet laughter, see his reflection in bright green eyes…

"Cornelius? Earth to Cornelius. Anyone home?"

The chirpy voice snapped him out of his pleasant daydreams. He noticed a pair of expectant chocolate eyes staring at him with interest.

"And people thought cheerleaders were spacey." Marianne giggled.

He grimaced. "Sorry about that. It's just that…this," he gestured awkwardly to the café filled with jocks, preps, and the so called popular kids. "Isn't exactly my style."

He much rather preferred to be out in the field or at HQ cracking cases and bringing down criminals. Sipping smoothies with pop music playing in the background just seemed so...dainty. Cornelius Fillmore didn't _do_ dainty.

The preppy girl laughed, "You're so silly! We're not shopping, we're on a date!"

Fillmore glanced down in dismay at the absent orange sash on his usual green shirt. "Uh, that's not—"

"Have you tried the Frozen Fruit Frappacino? I heard its hottest new thing on the menu! Or would it be the coldest? You know, I'm not really sure. Don't you think that's strange?"

"Well, I suppose so but—"

"Cindi—that's our Vice Captain, she's the bestest girlfriend ever—said it was too sweet, but what does she know about milkshakes? She's lactose intolerant. How weird is that? She can't eat anything with dairy, poor thing! Anyway, let's order one! We'll get two straws and share. Won't that just be _so_ cute—"

**Bzzt**_. _The walkie attached to Fillmore's belt sparked to life—much to the patrol officer's relief and confusion. Who could be calling him on today of all days?

A familiar voice with a familiar message reached his trained ears.

"_I need backup, over."_

The patrol officer snatched up the talkie and turned around in his seat. Sparing Marianne a glance, he noticed she was still chatting away and wasn't aware of the interruption. _I'll make it quick, _he thought. He talked in a hushed whisper. "Talk to me, Ingrid."

Static crackled on the other end of the device and he could barely make out the sound of her surprised voice over it. It sounded like she was out of breath.

"_Fillmore? Is that you? Why did…oh, my mistake. The walkie's still set to your channel. I was trying to reach Anza." _

He paused for a microsecond. He had almost forgotten that she was working Anza today. A pang of annoyance struck him. He should the one she called in times of trouble, not Joseph.

"What's the beef?" He asked.

More static.

He tapped his foot impatiently.

Finally, she answered.

"_One of Nevada's goons was bribing some sixth graders into the underground casinos. We were tailing him but we split up. I got a lock on him now and I need Anza to cut him off at the next building."_

"Where are you now?" He asked, glancing at the X-shaped clock on the wall of the cafe. Would he be able to make it?

Yes, he_ had_ to.

It was his job.

And his partner needed help.

"_At the loading docks in—"_

"Cornelius?"

He nearly dropped the talkie in shock. Swerving back around, he gulped uncomfortably as Marianne tilted her head at him in question. The walkie was oddly silent as she observed his tense posture and restless foot-tapping.

"Is something wrong?" she asked curiously.

Fillmore shook his head uncertainly, "No." he said slowly. "Just some business at the school."

Marianne perked up again, "Oh! Well then don't worry about it, silly! It's your day off; you should take a break and do more personal things."

An enigmatic smile found its way to the officer's face. "I take my business _very_ personally, Marianne."

"Oh." The girl said, unsure of how to reply to the comment. The moment of silence didn't last long as she whipped out the menu once again. "So I was thinking that we should order one Frozen Frappacino, two servings of Not-Yo Nacho Chips, well, maybe not two. Mark still has to be able to pick me up for the regionals state competition. But then again, I'll be eating salads for the rest of the week so it couldn't hurt. Ok, why not. And what else—"

Fillmore took this opportunity to sneak the talkie back up from underneath the table where he had hidden it. He pressed the talk button and replied in a low tone, "Hang in there, Ingrid. I'm on it."

A voice filtered through the feedback noise.

It sounded incredulous.

And it sounded male.

"_You're _on it_, Fillmore? You're _on it_? The only thing you're on is a date. You stay away from the chase or I'll place your workaholic butt on house arrest!"_

The reformed officer frowned. "Sorry Vallejo, wrong channel."

"_Wrong...? No! Wait, Fillmore! I swear if you change the channel, I will—"_

**Click.**

"Ingrid, you read me?"

A smile flitted across his lips as he heard her reply. _"That's affirmative. We're still tagging him, but if he gets to the speedboats before we catch him…"_ She trailed off.

"I'm there." He assured.

"You're there?" A chipper voice across the table from him jarred him from his conversation again.

Already standing up, Fillmore caught the eye of his date who had just called over a waiter to take their orders. She was looking at him expectantly, waiting for an explanation. She glanced back and forth between the talkie in his hand and his face and he could almost see the realization hit her. A bit of guilt bit into him when he saw her dejected expression. His grip tightened in resolution on the walkie.

A second passed before she sighed helplessly and smiled brightly.

"Go ahead. But don't think you're off the hook yet, cutie." She winked.

He chuckled and relaxed.

"Sorry baby." He tried to sound apologetic, but a barely noticeable grin in the corner of his mouth betrayed his intentions. "Duty calls."

And with that, Marianne Greene found herself alone in one of the most popular café's in X Middle School as her would be date—the infamous Cornelius Fillmore—dashed off to work, yet again. Somehow, the peppy girl couldn't bring herself to feel too M-A-D at the sudden (but almost expected) outcome. In fact, if someone were to ask her why she had a secretive smile on her lips even though she had just been ditched by one of the most sought after boys in X, she would just shake her head and say she was G-L-A-D. He was happy doing what he loved with someone who meant something to him.

Her grin turned sly. But that didn't mean Marianne was going to give up. Oh no.

She'll keep dragging him out to these dates until he realizes his feelings for a certain girl-genius. And she didn't mind playing devil's advocate until the two got together. It had been obvious the day she saw them standing beside Gladexis's locker that they were going to be ultra stubborn in admitting their feelings. She wondered why they did this to themselves.

The cheerleader giggled and sipped her Frozen Frap. "He really **is** silly."

o.O.o.O.o.O.o.

* * *

><p><strong>Word from the Writer: <strong>Who says cheerleaders can't be manipulative masterminds? I own all the Bring it On series, no shame. Honestly, those girls got attitude and I love it. Right, so no updates for a week or so on both SCP and DOL because I'm being abducted by the Homework Monster.

This chapter is to fill any SCP cravings you have for an entire week (or so). Use in moderation. Ha, kidding. Use it as much as you want, just don't forget to hit up that review button each time you do.

Reply to the Reviewers

**Lee Aemilius: **Points for grumpy cuteness, am I right? Ingrid's one of my top girl characters too. She's feisty—but in a cool way. How epic can you get with a girl who isn't afraid to crack down the law?

**Ally666:** Heehee, I believe you have. But for aesthetic's sake, I permit you to say it again! Haha, I'm an egotistical maniac. I apologize. Eeek, new story! Thanks for taking the time to check it out, hon. Muchabliged.

**Sony89:** _"Hello. What have we here?"-Fillmore_/ Dev. A new face, welcome kiddy. Thanks for reviewing, and I hope you enjoyed this one too. Aw, thanks. I like portraying Ingrid. She's such a weird lovable girl. Like me (HAHA. I'm KIDDING. –slaps hand- ego-check) Hope you stick around and I'll try my best to keep entertaining you.

See you in a week (or so), kiddies. Thanks for reading!

Psst: More reviews=higher fluff level in next chapter. I'll leave that decision up to you guys. Choose wisely.

Peace.

-Dev


	7. Tee Time

**Tee Time**  
>He wants to go out. She wants to stay inside. So they compromise.<p>

* * *

><p>He was staring at her.<p>

She chose instead to focus on the Oscar Wilde novel she had settled in her lap. The last time she had looked at him had given her a mental picture that would linger in her mind for a good couple of hours. She really didn't need to refresh it anytime soon. It would only succeed to further distract her—which she suspected was his main objective. If she looked at him now, her resolve would crumble like crackers and he'll end up getting what he wants. Again.

So she decided that this time she wasn't going to even acknowledge his existence.

Yes, she believed it would work splendidly.

And it did.

For a while.

Until his hand began to play with strands of her hair.

Caught.

She flicked irritated green eyes his way.

He had the most imperceptible of smiles at the corner of his lips on his otherwise blank face. The appendage in question had retreated for the moment and Ingrid wasn't sure if she was embarrassed or annoyed.

He suddenly grinned.

She scowled.

Annoyed it was.

"No." She said flatly and snapped her book shut. Rising from the Safety Patrol's new Office-Hours-Only Couch, the girl genius reached for another novel on the new Office-Hours-Only Bookshelf. But instead of grabbingDickens, her hand was blocked by the solid (and rather fit) chest of her partner-against-crime who was leaning casually against the stacks of books. Blinking for a moment, she regained her enough of her senses to look up at him (he had grown about an inch since they first met).

She didn't try to push him out of the way—he was an immovable object with an iron will. She knew from experience.

"This isn't helping your situation." She drawled and crossed her arms.

He recognized the motion and was quiet for a moment before smiling, "Let's make a deal." He said, true intentions hidden behind his glasses.

She almost laughed.

"Trying to bribe your Parole Officer? Not the best strategy." She chided lightly, an amused smirk dancing on her lips.

"Not a bribe. Just a suggestion." He held up his hands innocently.

She scoffed in disbelief. "With you? Anything's game."

Fillmore shrugged, as if acknowledging the statement was true to a certain extent. "Hey, fair's fair. But Vallejo **did** say I could do whatever I wanted."

She tsked him, "Vallejo _ordered _you to 'have fun' and 'stay away from work'. After the Marianne incident, who knows what else he might have in store for you. I let you go outside and you'll find a way to stop a shredder or bust a bakery stand. You might as well take root, Fillmore, because you're grounded."

He wasn't perturbed by her adamant refusal. If she knew anything about him (which she did), then she would say he almost looked smug, as if he had been expecting her to stop him.

"Come on Ingrid. I'll make it worth your while." His tone was ambiguous and she was yet again caught between feeling hopeful and disillusioned. He had that affect, much to her frustration.

She rolled her eyes. "Why am I not convinced?" She tried to reach around him but he blocked her path.

"No cheats." He promised. "I'll be with you the whole time. I just want to relax a little. Outside." He gave her one of _those_ smiles: the kind that made her want to turn away before the flush could work its way up from her neck to her face. The kind that made her want to give him everything he wanted because he was smiling at _her_ and not anyone else.

Her resolve was weakening, he could see it. One of these days he would admit that he shouldn't always use this tactic to get what he wanted but he had yet to discover a better way. So for now, he just smiled.

Without turning, he reached behind him and grabbed the book he knew she had in mind, _A Tale of Two Cities_, and held it out to her as a peace offering.

He was staring at her again.

She took one glance and crumbled.

o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o

"We should make this a ritual."

Fillmore smirked as he observed his partner reclined on one of X Middle School's Mini-Golf Course lounge chairs with her legs stretched out before her and combat boots kicked off to the side. A pair of oversized pink Las Vegas sunglasses blocked the sun's rays as she held _Two Cities_ in one hand and a cup of Shizuoka tea in the other. A tray with an assortment of Ritz Crackers, ham, and cheese adorned the table next to her. It was quite the picture. He could watch her all day and still have the time of his life.

"Comfy?" He asked, chuckling as he prepared his putter for the Eighteenth Hole.

She sipped her tea and sighed in contentment, "Extremely so. I can't believe you were able to convince TQ Shrader to give you some of this stuff. Word is that he imports the leaves directly from the Shizuoka Prefecture in Japan." She was using his rabbit cup because she had left hers back in the office. Fillmore seems to have expected this because he had pulled out his own mug from his backpack the moment she asked what she would use to drink the tea.

_The fact that he conveniently had a bag of crackers, putters, and tea in the first place is already highly suspicious_, Ingrid mused. She was jolted from her thoughts when Fillmore spoke.

"He does. But I'm pretty persuasive." Fillmore answered while positioning his feet shoulder width apart and judging the distance between him and the hole on top of the manufactured hill.

"I'll say." The girl genius muttered to herself as she watched him take a couple practice swings.

"What?"

"Nothing." She sang and slouched a little further down the chair. "So what did you do to get it?"

He spared her a glance. "Why so curious?" His attention returned to the course and she took the opportunity to admire his strong profile.

"No reason. Curious for curiosity, as the saying goes." She leaned forward conspiratorially, green eyes shining in excitement. "Did you bribe him too?"

A quick smile flashed across his lips before it disappeared under his frown of concentration. "Not exactly."

"Spill, Fillmore."

He didn't look at her; his eyes were fixed on his flagged goal.

"I don't think so, girl. You want to know so bad?" He stilled for a moment and swung with practiced expertise. The neon orange golf ball sailed through the sunny skies of X Middle School and landed flawlessly in the hole. Fillmore faced her with an indeterminable smile. "Then you'd better make it worth my while."

She took another sip of her tea and hummed in thought before smiling. Fillmore thought it was the type of smile that a cat in a creamery would have: a self-satisfied smirk. Then she said the words that created a strange (but increasingly familiar) tightness in his chest that he always had whenever he was reaching the end of a chase: a mix of adrenaline, eagerness, and anticipation that stole his breath away.

"Let's make a deal." She practically purred. He repressed a shudder.

Unlike his inner conflicting emotions, Fillmore appeared perfectly at ease with his club draped over his shoulder as he nodded for her to continue, interest piqued. "Go on." He cleared his throat.

"Same day. Same time. Same place." Ingrid's smile widened the slightest bit. "My treat."

Fillmore chuckled and reached into his bag for a golf ball, placing it on the tee for another shot.

"Now we're talking."

o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o

_A week later…_

"Fillmore. Third. I need you two to work overtime on the Fibbo-Nacho case. Stay after school." Vallejo called absently to his officers without looking up from his paperwork.

"Not today Vallejo. We're booked." Came the reply.

This took the Jr. Commissioner a moment to process. When he did, he stared in disbelief at the two figures already standing next to the office door. "Booked? What, you have some sort of tea party you're going to be late to?" He demanded with heavy sarcasm.

The two Safety Patrol officers glanced at each other briefly and shared a secretive smile before answering in perfect unison.

"Something like that."

* * *

><p><strong>Word from the Writer:<strong>

"_Curious for Curiosity."_ -Dev Li

I made up the saying so you can quote me on that. I'm back kiddies and I've missed you all. And Holey Swiss Cheese, we've reached the twenties in reviews! Have I mentioned how utterly awesome you guys are? Well you are. Awesome that is. Thanks for the love. There was a good amount of reviews in the last chapter so the fluff level is slightly higher, as promised. By the way, I will be starting up on Danny Phantom and Digimon stories (not sure when, but soon). Show of reviews, people: would you rather be able to Go-Ghost or Spirit Evolve (DG Season 4 Frontier)? Or just own a Digimon?

Me?

I'd own a Spirit-Evolving Danny Phantom as my personal Digimon. He'd start off as normal Danny and then digivolve to Dan Phantom. I will use him to rule the world. Beware. (Those of you who understand this joke, leave an XD smiley face in your review)

Reply to the Reviewers

**Lee Aemilius: **Quite true, several of my friends are extremely smart cheerleaders. I'm more spacey than they are (if you haven't already noticed)  
><strong>QSR016: <strong>Yup, those are the ones you have to watch out for.  
><strong>Sony89: <strong>Shazam! Point for me for writing something you liked. I'm honored that I live up to your expectations. (PS: clever word play, my friend.)  
><strong>Query4: <strong>Hola amigo, kudos to you for taking the time to individually review each chapter! That's dedication. Muchas gracias. When I wrote Duty Calls, I'd always thought whenever Fillmore thought of work, he'd automatically think of Ingrid. Hence, Ingrid was the one who called. Ingrid Calls. Duty Calls. Catch my drift? Ha, yeah I wasn't kidding when I said I crack really corny jokes. I agree, Ariella deserved more air time.  
><strong>Janet:<strong> What wonderful words of praise! Thank you, I'm glad you liked it. As for the sequel chapter, I'll definitely think about it –insert smiley- keep reading and see.  
><strong>Tetsu Deinonychus<strong>: Merci, merci. I am glad it is to your liking. Hope you stick around, yes? I also see on your profile that you like the Code Lyoko. I've always liked Jeremie but Ulrich is pretty beast too. Odd is my definition of chill. Beware of abandoned factories with giant supercomputers. Nuff said.

Get pumped for more in another week (or so), cadets.

It's Time for you to putt that button outta here.

Peace.

-Dev


	8. Addict

**Addict**  
>It's hard to stop.<p>

* * *

><p>"Another round?"<p>

"I don't know, Ingrid. It's already late and we're both tired from earlier."

"Come on Fillmore, you know you want to. You've been getting _so_ good at it lately."

"Are you trying to tempt me, Third?"

"Tsk. 'Tempt' is such a…harsh word. I prefer 'cajole'."

Fillmore shook his head, amused by her so-very-Ingrid answer before stretching and rubbing the kink that had developed in his neck from the past few hours from sitting on the floor in Ingrid's living room. Even with the support of the couch behind his back, his muscles were stiff. Craning his head, he caught a glimpse of the kitchen clock but found that he had to blink a couple of times before his eyes could actually focus on the numbers. Seven thirty. His vision had become blurred and hazy from the constant strain that's been placed on them.

He rubbed them tiredly beneath his glasses and groaned.

When he opened his eyes again, he took in the brightly lit TV screen that he had been staring at nonstop for the last five hours and the game controller that was in his hand.

Turning to his left, he saw his partner lying on her stomach on the floor in her black cat pajama pants and oversized Invader Zim T-shirt. Her short hair was tied back in two tiny pigtails secured by fuzzy green hair bands. Her expression may have been interpreted as bored by some with her half-lidded eyes and slightly downturned mouth but to him, she just seemed pensive.

Plotting her next strategy against him, no doubt, he thought with grimace.

He learned early on when they first played for the Ultrabox that she was merciless when it came to combat games.

She had a similar game controller in her hand and used her free one to reach for another chip in the bowl between them. A few soda cans were scattered here and there that were remnants of their most recent activities.

"Something about the Pop that fascinates you?"

Her voice broke him out of his stupor and he realized he had been staring aimlessly for quite a while.

"Huh?"

He blinked and focused on the girl who was now staring at him with those same half-lidded eyes but with a slight upturn of her lips. He tried to formulate a coherent sentence, but all that came out was an intelligent: "Wha?"

"My, it seems that the great Fillmore is speechless." She teased and took a small bite of a chip. "Did my impressive gaming turn you into an emotional wreck? Should I call Joelle and tell her that her son requires medical attention?"

He recovered quickly enough to shoot her a dry look. She had recently taken to calling his parents by their first names. She told him it was because she always thought of him as 'Fillmore' so calling someone Mrs. Fillmore had seemed rather odd to her. His mother hadn't minded (Fillmore suspected she may even like the idea, for some reason).

"That won't be necessary." He replied curtly. "But you might need to call your Dad down."

She tilted her head at him. He tried not to smile at how it made her seem like a curious four-year-old with her current night attire. "Why?"

He grinned and pressed the start button on his controller. "Because by the time I'm done with you, it'll take a mathematician to find your remainders."

Ingrid smirked and fixed her eyes back on the TV screen, "We'll see about that."

~Four hours later~

"It is absolutely no problem at all, Mrs. Fillmore. Cornelius is welcome to stay the night. It is Friday after all. The two of them deserve a little relaxation." Mr. Third assured the concerned parent on the other side of the phone with no small amount of amusement.

"_I apologize about this Nigel, it's the fourth week in a row! This is quite unlike him." _He thought she sounded surprised at her son's actions but he also noted that she didn't sound particularly angry by it. In fact, she seemed rather amused as well.

"Not to worry. I believe it was my Ingrid who was egging him on in the first place." He chuckled. The laughter echoed from the other end as well.

"_I'll bring over his things. He hasn't touched his duffel bag since last Friday so it's all packed and ready to go. Will he need anything else?"_

Mr. Third peeked in the living room from the kitchen door and couldn't stop the smile that crossed his face at the sight of the two middle schoolers fast asleep and curled around their respective controllers with the TV light casting a bright blue glow on them. Ingrid muttered in her sleep and Fillmore was semi-consciously continuing to press buttons on his handheld.

Nigel laughed to himself.

"I think he has everything he needs."

~Following Friday~

Fillmore yawned.

"Rough day." His partner commented with a smile.

He shot her a glance, "You should know. You were there."

She shrugged nonchalantly. "I wasn't the one who chased Randy for three miles through the Dodgeball training grounds with canned vegetables strapped to my back and sandbags attached to my legs."

He took a moment to process her response. "It's been a weird day." He finally said.

"It has." She agreed, still smiling.

They were walking towards Ingrid's house as usual since her house was closer to the school. Usually afterwards Fillmore would turn and head back to his own home at the opposite side of the school but today was Friday and Fridays were an exception.

"We could skip today. You must be pretty tired." Ingrid said casually.

He thought about it. If he did, he might finally get some rest at the end of an exhausting week.

But…

That also meant he would miss out on another night of joking around with his partner, matching her challenges, facing her constant teasing, watching her bite her lip when she's losing, seeing her smile when she wins…

She notices the look in his eye before he even recognized it himself and smirked.

"Best 45 out of 47?" He offered.

She couldn't keep the pleased grin off her face.

"You're on."

* * *

><p><strong>Word from the Writer:<strong> Wow have I been busy. Sorry guys, it's been hectic in real life and it's about to get hectic-er. –insert aggravated face here- Anyway, Happy (belated) Thanksgiving! Hope you guys have been swimming in gravy and whatnot. DOL will be updated by Christmas hopefully. Until then, be safe, eat plenty of cranberries, and play Black Ops to your heart's content.

Replies to the Reviewers

**QSR**: Thanks!  
><strong>Lee<strong> **Aemilius:** I assure you, I am made of at least 85% fluff and 15% fat. Good to know, I plan to have up a DP fic sometime shortly.  
><strong>Sony89:<strong> Yay tea! Yum. Glad you liked it!  
><strong>Ally666:<strong> Wish granted! Danny Phantom is on the way and he's here to save the day! Go rhyme schemes!  
><strong>Tetsu:<strong> Glad you liked it! I was watching Alice in Wonderland and I thought 'Hey, tea party'. And poof, a chapter appeared! Same with this one. I was playing Modern warfare and poof, a chapter appeared! I'm very unoriginal like that.  
><strong>Query4:<strong> Thank you! I'm a stickler for good character development. If I like the show, the fanfics better somewhat resemble the character otherwise what's the point?  
><strong>Demonwolfkid:<strong> Thanks! I spent the last idon'tevenknow writing these stories up so I hope I can continue to hold your interest!  
><strong>Rawrawr1337:<strong> I did! Haha.

See you guys late.

I'm addicted to reviews.

Peace

-Dev


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